Warrior Rising
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Achilles’ question threw her off guard. Kat wasn’t used to being asked the “if you could change your life decisions would you” questions. She was the shrink. She did the asking. She glanced up at the scarred warrior walking beside her. He was waiting attentively for her answer, as if it truly mattered to him.
“It’s different for girls,” she said, trying to reason through her answer and be as honest with him as possible. “If someone had given my teenage self the choice you were given it wouldn’t have been any choice at all. I didn’t want to be a great warrior.” She smiled at him. “I still don’t. But had I been given the choice between… say…” Kat paused, considering. “Well, between your first choice, which was basically to have a happy life fulfilled by all the normal things: marriage, family, home, blah, blah, or to have something heart-stopping, breathtaking and utterly ridiculously romantic. Like maybe a torrid, passionate love affair with someone who was completely taboo but whose love would flame forever in my soul even if it burned me out when I was still young.” Kat clutched her hands over her bosom dramatically and gave an exaggerated sigh, which made Achilles chuckle. “I probably would have taken the ridiculous romantic choice, and then regretted it when I grew the hell up.”
“You would regret love?”
“Fire-hot passion with someone because he’s off-limits isn’t love; it’s a little girl’s fairy tale idea of love. Plus now that I’m a grown woman I know that it’s possible to have both if you choose wisely.”
“Both?”
“Yeah, you can have a fiery passion for someone that can actually last, and he doesn’t have to be the bad boy Mommy wouldn’t let you date. It has to be the kind of fire that is fed with reality—as in communication and respect and such—versus the fantasy of…” She hesitated, wanting to refer to Romeo and Juliet, and finally finished with, “the fantasy of love, or rather lust, at first sight.” She looked up at him to see if she’d totally lost her audience, but he was still watching her with an intent, curious expression on his scarred face. “It’s a little like the fact that you could have had both, too.”
“Explain.”
His abrupt tone said Kat might have pushed too far, but she figured there was no going back now…
“You’re an amazing warrior and a great leader without the berserker. In just the couple of days I’ve been here I’ve seen you stand up to the king of an entire nation, lead your men, who follow you with complete loyalty, and beat four warriors at the same time. You did all of that without the berserker.”
Achilles didn’t speak for several moments, and when he did his voice was hollow with regret. “It is not possible to turn back the wheel of time.”
“Yeah, guess not…” Kat said as a vision of the queen of Olympus played through her mind.
Kat quickly decided missing running water and the Internet was nothing compared to not having grocery stores. True to his word, Achilles had tossed the bass at the feet of Aetnia and barked an order at her to cook it before he muttered something about “seeing to Odysseus” and striding away, leaving Kat frowning at his broad back and trying to ignore the dead fish eyes.
Aetnia, of course, instantly jumped to, grabbing the fish and hurrying off to do whatever it is one did to real fish to get them filleted and ready for the deli case and eventually the skillet.
“I need a drink,” Kat said. And before she could so much as enter Achilles’ tent in hopes that the pitcher of wine had been refilled, another maidservant seemed to magically materialize at her side, offering a goblet full of a lovely red. “Oh, thanks!” Kat smiled at her.
The young woman blushed and bobbled a sweet curtsey. “Anything for you, Princess!” Then she retreated back across the little clearing that separated Achilles’ tent from the others and joined a group of women who were sitting together mending what looked from the distance like articles of clothing while they threw her curious glances and whispered among themselves.
Kat sighed and sat on the bench beside Achilles’ tent. Well, she was playing princess. That probably meant that she shouldn’t go over to the group of women and try to make friends. She wasn’t a mythology expert, but that didn’t mean she was utterly a moron about ancient history. Nobility didn’t mix with servants. Period. That was already more than obvious by the way the women were reacting to Jacky’s new, outspoken persona. Clearly Polyxena was the only noble war-prize bride in the Myrmidon camp. Logically if there were others, they would have shown up to commiserate. The smartest thing to do would be to keep as low a profile as possible and stay away from the other women, avoiding unanswerable questions as well as escape plots.
But by the time Aetnia got back with the filleted fish, Kat was completely bored just sitting there by herself. Plus she really hated the subservient way Aetnia scurried around like she was really worried about offending The Princess. It made her wonder how awful Polyxena had been.
“Here, I’ll help.”
“Oh, no, Princess! This isn’t work for—”
“Aetnia, really. I’ll help. I want to.” Kat reached for a long wooden spatula-looking thing that was sitting on the cooking table beside the campfire. There was what seemed to be a perpetually simmering pot of stew hanging from poles over the fire, so Aetnia had placed the huge hunks of fish in two heavy iron skillets directly on the rocks that were interspersed with the glowing coals. “I’ll poke these two. You take those two.” Kat situated herself near the skillet she’d commandeered, enjoying the delicious smell of garlic, olive oil and fresh fish frying.
“As you wish, Princess.”
“So whose war-prize bride are you?” Kat asked to fill up the extremely dead air.
“I belong to Diomedes, Princess,” Aetnia said.
“I haven’t met him yet. Do you like him?”
“Like him?” She looked confused. “He does not beat me,” Aetnia said, as if that answered Kat’s question. “He is the warrior who wounded Achilles yesterday.”
Kat thought back, vaguely remembering a young, muscular guy who definitely had a big sword. She wished Jacky was there so they could make nasty puns about it, but she settled for smiling at shy Aetnia and saying, “He seemed to know what he was doing with a sword.”
“I—I hope he didn’t anger Lord Achilles,” she said in a little burst of breath.
“No, not at all.”
Aetnia looked so relieved Kat thought for a second that she was going to faint.
“Thank you, Princess!” she gushed.
“Aetnia, why were you so worried about Achilles being mad at Diomedes?”
The young woman’s eyes grew huge and she lowered her voice fearfully. “The berserker, Princess. It overtakes him and he becomes a monster. He can kill anyone when the creature possesses him.”
“Have you ever seen Achilles in his berserker rage?”
“Only watching from the walls of our beautiful city.” She shivered. “That was terrible enough.”
“But you’ve been in his camp for, what, more than two years?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“And you’ve never seen the berserker take control of him here?”
“No, my lady.”
“You know, maybe you should consider that Achilles isn’t as out of control and scary as everyone says he is.”
Aetnia gaped at Kat. “My lady, you, too, have watched him from the walls of Troy. You’ve seen him on the battlefield cutting a swath through our men. I do not understand how you can say even one kind word about him.”
“Aetnia, Diomedes is in need of you. Return to his tent.” Achilles’ deep voice coming from behind them made both of them jump, but Kat thought Aetnia looked like she was going to pass out.
"Y-yes, my lord!” She bobbed several jerky curtseys and literally ran off.
Kat frowned up at the glowering Achilles and was getting ready to tell him to quit being such a bully, that they were already scared enough of him, when Jacky made her grand entrance, followed closely by an unusually pale Patroklos.
“Oh, sweet weeping baby Jesus, is that fried food that I smell?” She grabbed a pottery bowl from the table and sat on the log closest to Kat. “I am starving.” She looked at Kat appraisingly. “Did I miss something? Did hell actually freeze over and you cooked?”
“Don’t start,” Kat told her, spooning up some of the hot, flaky fish for her friend.
“I do not understand how you can eat,” Patroklos said. “Not after the wounds you tended today.”
“Believe me, she can eat,” Kat said, gesturing at Jacky with the spatula. “She could eat a huge dinner while she lanced a boil while simultaneously playing with a ball of tapeworms.”
Jacky rolled her eyes at Kat. “Don’t pay any attention to her. She exaggerates. I wouldn’t play with the tapeworms—I don’t like parasites. Plus like I’ve been telling you all afternoon. You’ve been in battle. I have no clue why the blood and guts after the fact should bother you so much.”
“Battle is one thing. Afterward is another,” Patroklos said. He gave Jacky an adoring look. “My beauty is not like other women.”
“True for so many reasons.” Jacky smiled flirtatiously at him. “One of them being I believe in cleanliness.” Her gaze went from flirty to incredulous when she turned it on Kat. “You would not believe how nasty the infirmary was with—”
“Wine!” Achilles cut off Jacky’s gross recounting, as he called over his shoulder to the women who were mending clothes in front of a nearby tent. Several of them scrambled to do Achilles’ bidding, disappearing for only a moment and then reappearing with goblets for everyone, as well as four clay pitchers of wine.
Kat thought it was interesting how the women skirted around Achilles, giving him a wide berth. One girl, who must have drawn the short stick, was filling up his goblet and her hands were shaking so badly Kat was sure she was going to make a mess of it. “Keep an eye on the fish,” she told Jacky, and hurried over to Achilles. “I’ve got this. Go on back to your sewing.” Kat took the pitcher from her and gave her a friendly smile. The girl bowed and then bolted. With a hand that was decidedly steadier, Kat filled Achilles’ goblet.
“You know, if you didn’t bark commands at them, they might stop jumping out of their skin every time you’re near,” Kat said softly as they walked the short distance to the campfire together.
“They fear me even though they have no reason to. Commanding them or not will not change that.”
Kat thought he sounded angry, and she guessed she couldn’t really blame him. The women showed their fear of him so openly that it must grate on his nerves. Kat spooned up fish and garlic for all four of them, and even Patroklos ate at Jacky’s insistence. Then she and Jacky sat comfortable on the bench and ate the utterly delicious fish with fresh bread and wine, while Patroklos and Achilles sat on the sandy beach on either side of them.
Kat noticed Patroklos leaned his back intimately against Jacky’s knees. They ate and talked easily together. Kat decided she liked Jacky with Patroklos. That he was a good man was obvious, but he also had a fun sense of humor, and he seemed to appreciate her. And Jacky definitely liked him—despite her cynical nature.
Kat looked down at Achilles. He was sitting close to her, but his back was so ramrod straight that no part of his body touched hers.
She bent forward and whispered in his ear as she tugged on a long strand of his golden hair. “Lean back against me. You look uncomfortable as hell sitting all perfect and straight like that.”
He looked up over his shoulder at her, grunted, and then leaned against her legs. He was still stiff, so Kat butted him with her knees. “Relax,” she whispered into his ear, and after only a little hesitation, he did relax, leaning back more comfortably.
Pleased with herself, Kat looked around as she ate the tasty fish and saw that all of the women who had been mending clothes across the campfire from them were staring at her with looks ranging from shock to fear. Kat sighed.
“What have you done to make all of those women so scared of you?” She asked him quietly, not wanting to be overheard, but Patroklos answered.
“The women condemn Achilles no matter what he says or does. He has never harmed one of them. None of us have. We are not barbarians. The war prizes who come to our beds do so willingly.” Patroklos paused long enough to give Jacky a big grin.
“Finish your dinner. I’ll check your stitches afterward.” Jacky spoke matter-of-factly, but Kat could see that she also stroked the side of Patroklos’s thigh with her bare foot.
“Will you check them in our tent? Alone?” Patroklos’s eyes gleamed with obviously naughty intent, and for a split second he did remind her of Buffy’s Spike—not that she would ever admit that to Jacky.
“Yes.” Jacky made her voice all breathy, speaking in what Kat thought was a pretty darn good imitation of Marilyn Monroe. “There are some examinations that are much better done in private.”
Kat could have sworn only five more minutes had passed when Patroklos was picking up one of the pitchers of wine and two goblets and following Jacky, who said, “Good night,” to Kat with a wink, into their tent.
“So they’ve always been scared of you?” She took up the unfinished thread of their conversation after they were alone.
Achilles answered her, but it was clear the subject made him uncomfortable. “Women have feared me since the first time the berserker fully possessed me when I was with the maiden to whom I was betrothed.” His voice had gone from reluctant to cold. The more he spoke, the more dispassionate he sounded, but Kat could see the way his shoulders had tensed again and how he held himself too rigid so that he was no longer leaning relaxed against her. “I was nineteen and she was sixteen. She was of Ithaca’s royal house, a distant cousin of Odysseus. We thought to join our families. I’d known her since we were children. The night before our wedding we snuck away to be alone. She wanted me, and I her. I’d had no idea the berserker could possess me during such a time.” His voice raised then, sharp with anger. “I wasn’t on a battlefield. There should have been no reason—” He broke off and shook his head.
“What happened?”
“I killed her—raped her to death. I came back to myself with her bloody, lifeless body beneath mine. I have not taken a woman since that night.”
Abruptly he stood and, without so much as a backward glance at her, Achilles disappeared inside their tent.
“Well, hell. Where’s some Xanax and a good, sturdy straight-jacket when you need them?” Kat tried to joke with herself—to lighten the sadness of the oppressive mood Achilles had cast over them. Of course it didn’t work. What he’d told her was awful. He’d killed the girl he’d loved and was supposed to marry.
She stood up, not wanting to sit there and let the women stare at her. Or worse, one of them might come over to her and whisper another escape plot that Achilles could overhear. Kat looked at the closed tent flap. She wasn’t ready to go in there yet, either. With a sigh, she pulled off her shoes, hiked up her voluminous silk skirts and started walking toward the nearby seashore. Maybe the moon shining off the waves would calm her.
Kat had just reached the water when a huge burst of glittering diamond dust erupted in front of her, out of which Venus suddenly appeared.
“Darling, you’re not doing a bad job, but I thought that, perhaps, you could use a little advice from Love herself.”
Kat shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it definitely couldn’t hurt.”